Chapter Eight

Willow Reeves was at her parents’ place in North Uist when the call came from Jimmy Perez. The commune had come together for a working lunch and they were sitting round the long table in the old barn. Time had snapped like elastic released from tension and she was a kid again. Everything was the same – the taste of home-made bread and vegetable stew, the murmured voices that hid dissent and frustration under a veneer of politeness. Except that there were no children at the table. The individuals she remembered as being strong and flexible now had grey hair and arthritic joints. No new members had joined since she’d signed up for the police service. There were no families to boost numbers for the island school. The communal ideal of shared ownership and shared beliefs seemed to be unappealing to Thatcher’s children.

She muttered an apology and went outside to take the call. Her mother, Lottie, had been delighted to see her and Willow had enjoyed her time here, felt better for the mindless physical exercise and the organic food. And she’d banished the guilt that had bothered her every time she’d phoned them and heard her mother’s wistful but undemanding enquiry about when she might be planning a visit. Her relationship with her father had always been more problematic and now, after a fortnight, she was ready to leave. The unexpected contact with the outside world came as a relief.

‘I’m sorry to bother you.’ Perez’s voice sounded distant. ‘I know that you were spending some time with your folks.’

‘Is it work, Jimmy?’

‘We’ve got a suspicious death. A woman from the south here for a hamefarin’ in Unst. No obvious cause of death, but she’s kind of posed, so I don’t see it as natural causes. James Grieve is booked onto this evening’s flight.’

James was the pathologist, based in Aberdeen. She’d met him in Shetland on a previous case. Another investigation featuring a posed body.

‘I know that you’re on leave,’ Perez said, ‘but I thought I’d contact you first.’ A pause. ‘I thought that you’d want to know.’

There was a moment of pleasure because she could tell that he wanted her there; she was his first choice. She was already calculating flight times and possibilities. She should get the next plane from Benbecula if she left in ten minutes. ‘Can you book me onto the last flight from Glasgow, Jimmy?’

‘For today?’

‘If that’s all right with you, Inspector.’ Mock-stern because, in theory, she was his boss when it came to serious crime in the Highlands and Islands.

‘I won’t get to meet you from Sumburgh,’ he said. ‘I’m thinking that I should stay here in Unst tonight. You know what a trek it is back to the mainland. I’ll arrange for a hire car to be waiting for you at the airport and book you onto the last ferries up. Will you bring James? I’ll sort out accommodation for you both too.’